


What Lies Beneath

by Judas_Iscariot



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: First Meeting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judas_Iscariot/pseuds/Judas_Iscariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Love is supposed to be like this", Marsac whispered, digging his nails into Aramis' back and leaving behind deep red strains. <br/>"Raw and brutal and destructive."</em>
</p>
<p>In which Aramis and Marsac still can't be together. They never can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lies Beneath

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's me again!   
> And again with some Aramis/Marsac angst, sorry.
> 
> It's not beta read so I'm apologizing for any mistakes I made, English is not my first language :-) 
> 
> Well then, have... "fun" ;-)

It hadn't been pure, not at all. Maybe at the beginning, when they had barely known each other, barely known death and torture and pain. On that fateful day they met it had rained. Soaked they had stumbled across the empty streets, passing dark alleys and windows with candle lit rooms laying behind them.   
It was mere coincidence that they ran into each other, not looking where they went, and when they looked up into the other man's eyes they were in fact pure. The rain had washed away the layers of dirt and dried blood, leaving only fading bruises behind, and in the moonlight their skin and hair and eyes shone and they held their breath for a second. 

It was later that night that they found out they were both going to be the King's Musketeers soon and they knew they had just found their first friend. 

Friendship became brotherhood, and brotherhood eventually became an affair. 

They met in secret, stealing kisses and touches and sharing their burning passion, whispering each other's name in the darkness and trying not to fall asleep in each other's arms. It was too tempting but they would also be in danger of being discovered. And so it went on, and they thought it would never change. Even though battles and death and pain were a constante in their lives now they still had each other, they were still able to cope as long as they were able to hold onto the other's sweaty body and burnt skin. The light was fading, they knew, just as they knew that they were breaking with the darkness that crept up behind them, lulling them into the depth between life and death and not letting go, never letting them go. 

Marsac knew if he kept holding on to Aramis forever that darkness would never stop spreading. They were destroying each other. Sometimes it seemed to him that if he could only kiss the younger man deep enough he would get to the light from that first night that he knew was still in that damaged body. If he could only rip through the skin and pull him closer and love him with all that raw force that was between them, he would be able to see it again, see the boy again that he fell in love with far too hard, too brutal. 

Aramis' thoughs were nearly the same, less violent though, and he pressed his body closer to Marsac's. Sometimes all he wanted to do was sink his nails into the scarred skin, and dig through all the layers of dirt and blood and raw muscles and electricity until he could reach the flawless flesh and the shining hair underneath all of that. That's when he realized that Marsac had just washed himself and the dirt and blood was clinging to Marsac's soul. He buried his head deeper in Marsac's neck and breathed in, teeth scraping the bare skin. 

 

They were breaking and they knew it and yet they still held on. They were too passionate, too full of emotions that neither of them could handle, and yet it was love.   
"Love is supposed to be like this", Marsac whispered, digging his nails into Aramis' back and leaving behind deep red strains.   
"Raw and brutal and destructive."   
Aramis only moaned, only comprehending those words months later. 

 

When he finally understood what Marsac had meant that night it was already too late. He was alone and empty and numb and nothing a rapier or a musket could have done to him was worse than what he was feeling then. He was between indifference and despair, and he wasn't sure whether the darkness had gone with Marsac or if it had fully consumed him now. He didn't care. 

When he woke up and the cold of the woods was replaced with the cold of the absence of a second body next to his, three words crossed his mind.   
Raw. Brutal. Destructive.   
Marsac had left him, had simply gone and although Aramis knew it was probably for the better, he was wild. All his emotions came crashing down on him. Raw. Brutal. Destructive. 

 

After months of wandering around, one hand at the gun and the other around his ribcage, Marsac found his way back to Paris. He stood there, lost in the all too familiar streets, and a feeling deep in his chest urged him to run and never come back, while it also told him to keep going. 

There were deep shadows under his eyes, bruises all over his face and the dirt clung to his body as it did to his soul and not even the rain could wash it away anymore.  
He waited until night fell over that grubby old woman that was Paris and made his way through the wet silvery streets. He felt like a living corpse, despair and fear reaching out for him but never touching him. He had become numb over these months, desperately wanting to feel something, anything, and always being just this tiny bit too far from reaching it; he would have welcomed madness and insanity into his life just to have something for sure, something broken to hold onto. 

Instead he found himself standing outside of Aramis' room. He could hardly see through the windows for there was no candle and no light inside but he could make out the silhouette of a slender body laying on that oh so familiar bed. His mouth went dry and he could barely breath, being afraid Aramis would hear him and wake up. He wasn't sure if he was breathing at all. 

Aramis looked still and peaceful and thin, much thinner than he remembered him, and he wondered if that was his fault and if Aramis was maybe dying. Because Marsac was. He was already too close to death; two months ago he had taken a knife. He'd wanted to stab himself in the chest and rip out his heart, only to be stopped by the prostitute he had been able to afford that day. The other night he was close to shooting a bullet right through his brain just to stop thinking. He'd wanted to jump off a bridge and drown and hang and burn himself but he never could. Every single time he found he was too much of a coward to do so. It urged him to die but some part of him wanted to survive, if only to show the world that he was able to hang on.   
(Which he barely did, really.) 

And then Aramis turned around, opening heavy, red eyes and showing his pale face and hollow cheeks and in the moonlight his white skin was close to glowing. There was purity in it; purity that he hadn't seen since he had looked up into shining brown eyes and smiling soft lips and messy wet hair so many months ago, if not years. In that moment he regretted thinking he would never be able to rip through Aramis' skin to see that light again, because it was right there, if only for a few moments before Marsac turned around and disappeared. He didn't want to risk Aramis seeing him, couldn't take the feelings that tore through him for the first time in so long. It was the first time since he'd last touched Aramis' skin, felt the blood trickle down his temple onto his trembling fingers, felt his breath against his neck, feeling it slow down and he remembers that panic was one of these last feelings and that was when it occured to him. 

He was supposed to let Aramis go. This couldn't go on. If he stayed, if he took Aramis with him, they would just keep destroying themselves, they would crash into each other and pull each other down into the endless void, thinking there were a million stars in the other's eyes, a million galaxies forcing their way through the other's chest, shining bright and addicting and he only wanted to see more of Aramis, of this naked, pure, bare, raw man, when all those stars were actually nothing more than cracks in their souls. The remains of countless battles, of witnessing death and pain, and he only became more beautiful with each fight that he fought and each damage he took.   
And he knew if they would meet again, their souls would rip apart, releasing all the pain and anger and frustration and brutality there was, and as beautiful as they would shine, they would destroy themselves knowing that they couldn't get any closer, couldn't get under the other's skin or in their eyes to fetch those galaxies. 

 

Aramis stared out into the night, raindrops running rivers on his window, and he was sure there was Marsac's silhouette. But in the same second that he saw the endless misery and helplessness that was his lost lover, he was gone, only the darkness that had surrounded him remained, creeping into the room, darker than the shadows, embracing him. He fell asleep again, the feeling of dirt and blood under his fingernails and the fading pictures of a million stars before his eyes, clinging to him and pulling him down again. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted Marsac to tear him apart and take all his love. All these raw, brutal, destructive emotions.


End file.
